


i've got the real thing (and nothing else matters)

by fromiftowhen



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Chenford Week 2020, Crimes & Criminals, Dance Floor Hookups, F/M, PTSD, Secret Relationship, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, mentions of trauma, mentions of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen
Summary: “What’s going on, did something—“She pauses, her eyes finally taking in the large whiteboard in the front of the room.“Oh, god.”“Officer Chen,” Grey starts, and it feels like everyone in the room takes a collective step back as he takes a step toward her at the whiteboard. “I know it’s hard to look at, I’m sorry. I should have prepared you.”“She— she looks almostexactlylike me.”OR -- Lucy gets involved with an undercover operation. Tim, as always, is her partner, and along the way, she finds her team.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 19
Kudos: 205
Collections: Chenford Week 2020





	i've got the real thing (and nothing else matters)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Chenford week! This one almost didn't happen, ya'll. I mean. It's an ENTIRELY different story than it was 24 hours ago (meaning... it didn't exist 24 hours ago.) It's for the Secret Relationship/Undercover prompt, and I'll let the tags tell you which it is. 
> 
> Title from Love You Like That by Dagny. 
> 
> I'm fromiftowhen on Tumblr, let's be friends!

The first sign that something is up is when the group gathered in the roll call room quiets immediately when Lucy walks in.

Jackson and Nolan, who she has such a familiarity with that it makes them always able to immediately find each other in a room, some permanent rookie bond that hasn’t ended in the year since they graduated, won’t look at her.

Harper and Lopez do, but their faces are both blank, and it seems intentional.

Tim and Grey are standing at the front of the room. Tim looks angrier than she’s seen him, maybe ever. 

She makes her way up front, because when the Watch Commander calls you back to the station in the middle of patrol, you don’t hesitate to find out what he needs. 

And when you realize your closest coworkers, your closest _friends_ are there too, well. Clearly something is up. 

“It’s not my birthday, guys, no need for a surprise,” she tries to joke, halfway through the room. Nolan offers a half-smile, but it’s forced, pity. “What’s going on, did something—“

She pauses, her eyes finally taking in the large whiteboard in the front of the room. _“Oh, god.”_

“Officer Chen,” Grey starts, and it feels like everyone in the room takes a collective step back as he takes a step toward her at the whiteboard. “I know it’s hard to look at, I’m sorry. I should have prepared you.”

The board is littered with documents, like it’s just been pulled in from one of the detective’s offices upstairs. An open case. The top of the board is what caught her eye, though. Crime scene photos that made her stop in her tracks. 

“She— she looks almost _exactly_ like me.”

“Her name was Annie. Annie Foster. Her body was found last week. There have been two other women found, similar profiles, in the last two months. All around your age, same build, very, very similar.”

“I— that’s horrible, sir. I’m not sure—“ She isn’t sure why she’s _here,_ why they’re all here, and why it feels like they were all waiting for her, why the tension in the room is off the charts. 

“Chen,” Harper starts, and Lucy turns to her. She’s always honest, _always,_ even when Lucy wishes she wouldn’t be. It’s one of her best qualities.

“They’ve found three bodies, but no killer. Homicide is sure it’s the same suspect. They’ve got an idea, but,” she trails off as Tim cuts her off. 

“But, you can walk out of this room right now, Boot. You don’t have to listen to the rest of this,” he says, and Lucy flinches at the use of Boot. It’s not who she is to him anymore. 

“I don’t— I don’t know what I’m even listening to.” She turns to Grey, because maybe the rest of them are here for moral support, she doesn’t know, but he’s the one who will be giving her the details pertinent to her job. “Sir?”

“Officer Chen,” he says again, and _god,_ she wishes someone in the room would just call her Lucy, just for a peek at the normalcy she didn’t know she was losing as she walked through the door. “Homicide thinks they know where their suspect finds the victims. They all visited the same club on the night they disappeared. All three were with their long term partners, all who confirm it was the last place they were seen. But they don’t know who the suspect is, obviously. Multiple factors lead them to think it’s an employee, however.”

“Okay,” she says. She glances at Tim again. There’s a reason he told her she could walk out. She trusts him, and it’s almost enough to send her out the door without hearing another word. She can guess, and it’s scary. 

“Homicide wants to send someone in, undercover. We don’t have much time, obviously, so we want to make sure the person that’s sent in fits the typical victim’s profile as closely as possible, to quickly draw the suspect out.” 

“And that’s… that’s me?” She can’t keep the hesitation, the shake, out of her voice, and she hates it a little.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Tim says, and she can see Jackson nod in her periphery. 

“Sergeant Bradford is right,” Jackson says, and Lucy knows the strength he had to muster to speak what might be an unpopular opinion in a room of superiors. It’s why he’s her best friend. 

Grey nods. “They’re both right. This is not an assignment, Chen. But yes, Homicide came to me because, well. The resemblance is unmistakable. You do not have to do this. Given the circumstances, we would all understand.”

The _circumstances._ How it’s barely been a year since she was drugged and abducted and almost killed. How she fought, and got lucky, and _survived,_ something these girls didn’t get to do. Something other victims might soon experience.

She nods. “You think I will, though. That’s why everyone is here, why they’ve all been briefed.” It’s why TIm looks so mad and Jackson looks so scared

 _“If_ you agree, this will be your support team. They’ve all agreed already.”

_Her team._

She glances around the room. Lopez, who she arguably doesn’t know as well as she does the others, but who she knows would walk into fire for anyone, especially Tim, especially Jackson. Harper, who just last week spent an hour after shift helping her perfect her right hook. Jackson and Nolan, who have had her back since day one, who are honest and _good_ and know her. Grey, who she respects.

And Tim. Tim, who looks mad, but who she knows well enough to know it’s masking about a million other emotions. Tim, who probably _is_ mad, but not at her. Tim, who just nods gruffly when she looks at him, because he already knows her answer. 

“Sir,” she says, focusing on Grey again. “You said they were all with long term partners that night? Are we sure--”

“Yes, they’ve all been cleared, with strong alibis. Video surveillance shows them all leaving, for one reason or another, without the victims, and not returning.”

“Homicide thinks that might be part of it, actually,” Lopez speaks up, the first time Lucy’s heard her since she walked in the room. “Part of the draw, for the killer. All the victims were with romantic partners, video shows there was a lot of very obvious PDA. They think there may be some connection, just based on the profile they’ve put together.” 

She nods. It doesn’t change her mind. “Would someone go in with me?”

Grey nods. “Homicide has a detective in mind--”

“No.” Maybe the adamance of her voice makes him think she’s declining the op, because he starts to nod. “No, sir. I’m sorry. I mean, I’ll do it. I don’t want anyone else to go through what these poor girls did,” she says, looking at Annie’s picture on the whiteboard. 

“But I’ll only do it if Tim goes in with me,” she finishes. She glances quickly at Tim, but he’s already schooled whatever expression crossed his features, because he’s just watching her. She thinks she sees Lopez and Harper exchange glances, but she’s really only focused on Grey, who’s now turned _his_ attention on Tim. 

“Sergeant Bradford?” He asks. 

“If she goes, I go,” he says, and Lucy would smile if the entire situation didn’t feel so dire.

Grey nods. “I’ll clear it with Homicide, but I don’t think they’d have a problem sending in a pair who’ve already proven they can work together. Are you sure, though… you’ll have to convincingly play the part of a couple, physically,” he reminds them. 

Lucy bites her lip and this time tries to avoid looking at Tim.

“We’ll figure it out, sir,” he assures Grey. 

“Okay then,” Grey says. The next hours are spent delving further into the case, bringing in the Homicide detectives, and for Lucy specifically, wondering _what in the hell_ she’s gotten herself into.

\-----

“Are you mad at me?” 

They’re the first words out of her mouth when he opens the door a couple hours later. 

“Come in,” he says, and his hand on her waist is the most welcome touch, the most normal she’s felt in hours. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad they put you in a situation we all knew you’d agree to. Everyone in that room knew you’d say yes.”

 _“Tim,”_ she says, crouching to scratch Kojo between the ears. “I couldn’t say no, can you _imagine_ if I did and something happened to someone else? Someone else’s family, someone’s loved one, had to go through that?”

“I know,” he whispers, watching her shuck her coat and shoes at the door. “It’s brave.”

She shrugs, heading in his direction. Her hands find the buttons on his henley, his warm skin under her fingers, as she reaches him. It’s automatic, it’s a reflex almost four months in the making. 

“Are you mad I dragged _you_ into it?” She asks, clarifying, and she can’t help the way her lower lip pouts out a little, just teasing him, because _she knows him._

“Lucy, if you were in it, _I_ was in it from the word go. Besides, do you really think I’d have let some goon from Homicide feel you up in a club?”

She laughs, presses her lips to his chest and pushes her fingers up, into the hem of his shirt to pull it off him. “Do you really think _I’d_ let some _goon_ from Homicide feel me up in a club?”

“Mmm, you better not,” he says, smirk firmly in place. It used to aggravate her to no end, his cocky, devil may care attitude, before she knew it was hiding so much affection and vulnerability. She’s grown to love it, to love _him,_ more than she ever knew she was capable of in such a short period of time. 

He rucks her shirt up and runs his palms up her back. His long, nimble fingers unhook her bra, and she laughs. “In a rush?”

“To get you naked and in my bed? _Always.”_ It feels like more than that, though, tonight, and she gets it. He pushes her shirt up and off and she loses her bra, and his lips are on her skin, slicking over her collarbone and down, his teeth grazing her nipple in the way he knows short circuits her brain faster than almost anything. 

_“Please,”_ she whispers. It’s all she ever has to say. It means a million different things, encompasses a million different wants, and somehow he always, always knows which. 

“Come on, baby,” he says, lacing their fingers together and leading her down the hallway toward his room. 

He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap, like she wouldn’t have chosen exactly the same spot. His lips find her neck and she rolls her hips down against him automatically, the fabric of their jeans dragging. It’s good, better than any clothed touch should be, and she does it again, quicker, like they’re teens five minutes from curfew. 

He groans, and he sounds as desperate as she feels. “Lucy,” he says, and it’s gravelly enough she almost doesn’t recognize it as her name. “You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you tomorrow, right?”

“Shh, _shh,”_ she murmurs, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against him. She grinds down against him again, and it’s when his hands rub gently down her back, soothing, not rough, that it clicks. 

She’s _anxious._ She’s nervous, and she’s trying to calm her nerves with Tim, with _sex. He’s_ anxious, _he’s_ nervous, and he’s giving her exactly what she wants, because he knows her. Because he _cares._ There’s affection, _love,_ there, in every action -- they haven’t said the words, because it’s early, she thinks, and she’s gunshy and he’s more of an actions guy. The transition from loving someone to _being in love_ with someone felt _easy,_ in a way she hadn’t really anticipated, though. 

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, in the breaks where they aren’t hiding anything, where they can just _be,_ it feels like they don’t need words. Like now, when she hushes him, desperate, and he just slides his hands in the back pockets of her jeans and pulls her tighter against him, giving her what she wants. 

_“Thank you,”_ she whispers, and it means _please,_ and _I love you,_ and _I trust you,_ just like her lips on his neck and his hands on her back.

\-----

Sometimes she forgets why they agreed to keep it secret, keep it to themselves, for now. Because that feels like something that should be reserved for a _thing_ that’s not going anywhere, that they don’t think will last. 

This isn’t that, they both know it, it’s been discussed with words, with touch. So sometimes, when she wants to touch him, to hold his hand as they walk into the station together or run her fingers along his knee as they sit together for lunch, she forgets. 

And then she walks into the station the next day, and all eyes are on her. 

They all know what she’s agreed to do, gossip spreading like wildfire on dry land, and she remembers why. 

It wasn’t long ago she was his rookie. The right people would believe nothing happened, because it’s true, but gossip is incendious. So today, right now, she’s thankful they don’t have to deal with any other intrusive gossip, any lingering looks directed at something private. 

Even if it means he has to stand a respectful distance away outside the locker room before she goes in to get changed and he heads in the other direction to do the same. Because she could use a reassuring touch, a quick kiss before everything gets hectic. 

He can see it, she knows, because he takes a step closer, the way he always does when they’re alone. His fingers brush the back of her hand quickly, casual enough to be an accident, if it needs to be. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and the rest of the world falls away, like they aren’t surrounded by coworkers and cameras and _rules._ “None of us will let anything happen to you.” 

“I know you won’t,” she says. I know _you_ won’t. 

He glances away. “You know I’ll have to--”

“Leave at some point?” She asks, and he frowns, and it means yes. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s the safe assumption that the victims wouldn’t have been taken if their partners stayed. So for anyone to show their hand, her safety net, _her_ partner, has to disappear. 

“I’ll be right outside with the detectives. Harper will be there, Jackson, Nolan.”

 _They’re not you,_ she wants to say, but he knows it, and it won’t change anything that has to happen. He’ll stay as long as he can.

“I know. It’ll be okay, and hopefully, it’ll be worth it.”

“Always so positive,” he smiles, and it’s her favorite compliment. 

He glances at his watch and grimaces. “Okay. I’ve gotta--”

“Okay.” She smiles, but it’s shaky, a little of the nerves shining through. His fingers brush her wrist, and she lets them trail off only as he walks away. She sighs and pushes the locker room door open. 

\-----

“No,” Harper says. It’s flat, decisive. 

“This isn’t okay?” She turns, looking at her outfit in the mirror. She hadn’t realized undercover work meant getting ready with her coworkers in the locker room, sharing the bathroom mirrors for makeup and hair, like some weird college pre-party. 

“Chen, you’re going out to a club with your pretend boyfriend, who you love, to dance, and grind, and do things no one should rightfully do in public. You’re not going down to Ike’s for a beer with Nolan and Jackson on a Tuesday night. You have to sell the part.” 

_“Ouch,”_ she says. “I thought it was cute.” 

“For a night out with friends, sure. Hang on. I thought this would happen,” she says, grabbing her keys and running out the door.

Lopez walks in as she runs out, and Lucy smiles, sheepishly. “I wasn’t dressed the part, apparently.” 

She shrugs. “Harper knows what she’s doing. Here,” she says. “Got you some jewelry.” 

It’s just a simple beaded bracelet, a larger middle stone. She slips it on her wrist and smiles. “Cute, thanks.’ 

“No. I mean, you’re welcome. But it’s from Narcotics. Their UCs use them, I stole one for you. See how the middle stone is porous? Put a drop of your drink on it. If it’s drugged, it’ll turn bright pink, like the cardboard coasters that were popular for awhile?” 

“Oh, okay,” she says, turning the bracelet around on her wrist. She wouldn’t have guessed, which she guesses is the point. It sounds like a lifesaver, it sounds like something she’d have loved to have a year ago. 

“Not saying that you’ll need it. I just thought--” 

She shakes her head, smiles as much as the subject allows. “No. I get it. Thank you, Angela.” She’s Tim’s best friend, and she wonders briefly if he had something to do with it, but she knows if Tim wants her to have something, he’ll give it to her himself. 

Lopez nods, and the door swings open, interrupting anything else. 

“Here,” Harper says, holding out a tiny, dark dress. “It’s from Crystal’s club days.” 

“It’s… “ Pretty isn’t the word, not for something that’s basically a tube of red fabric. 

Harper laughs. “Yeah, Crystal ain’t shy. This was from right after I had Lyla, though, so trust me, I could have brought you worse.” 

“Thanks…” She grimaces and shimmies out of her comfortable jeans and into the dress. 

Lopez smirks as she gets it straightened, and she frowns. “What?”

“No, no, it’s not bad. I was just thinking that Tim is going to lose his mind. He hates UC stuff, but I don’t think this will bug him much. You look _hot,”_ she grins, a little mischevious.

She turns and looks in the mirror, and well. She’s not wrong. She didn’t think it would be, but it’s flattering, the way it shows off her arms, the muscles she’s fought for, and lengthens her legs. It makes her feel a little more confident, and she knows seeing Tim’s reaction will only heighten that. 

“Thanks,” she says. “So, do I look ready?” 

Harper smiles, rare and bright, and it softens her, and calms something in Lucy she didn’t realize needed it. “Do you _feel_ ready?”

She nods. 

“Just remember,” Harper says. “You’re not alone. Even after Tim leaves, I’ll be in there, you have a team. You’ll get an earpiece in the car, we’ll all have one. You’ll hear us the whole time, and if you need to talk to us, you can press a button and we’ll instantly hear everything you do. If you need to bail, you can bail. If something happens -- and it won’t -- and I’m not already there, you just find me in the crowd, call me Crystal, and we’ll just be old friends stumbling out of the club together.”

“And I’ll be outside, covering the closest exit to where you’ll be,” Lopez says. “Tim will be with me when he leaves. You’re dressed the part, but you’re not _playing_ a part. You’re just going to dance and have fun, just a girl blowing off steam at a club. The hardest part of this will be making out with Tim.” That smirk is back, and Lucy’s pretty sure she knows where she picked it up from. 

“Ugh, _yeah,”_ Lucy says. It’s… less than convincing, if the glance Lopez and Harper share is any indication. She shakes out her hands, her arms, loosens her muscles. 

“Here,” Lopez says, rummaging around in her bag. “If you ever tell anyone I brought this into the station, I will _end you,”_ she warns. She hands Lucy a silver flask she recognizes from the disastrous speed dating night, and she takes a swig, hoping things will end better than that night. 

“Cheers,” Lopez says, throwing back a quick shot before passing it to Harper.

She thinks about Harper and Lopez, reassuring and taking care of her in their own specific, stilted ways as she watches them get their stuff together.

It feels like pre-gaming, like she’s about to head out with friends for a wild night. Harper passes her a mirror for a quick touch up, and she smiles.

Maybe she is. 

\-----

“It’s just us,” Tim whispers, his breath warm against her neck. The club is loud, and packed, and hot, and the confidence she felt in the locker room has dissipated some in the almost hour they’ve been here. 

Tim’s strong body against her back, his hands on her hips pulling her back against him the way he’d pulled her against him last night, his breath on her skin. It all works though, it helps ground her some, even as it riles her up. She can’t stop scanning the crowded space though, her eyes fixing on anyone who gives her a second glance. 

“Just relax into me, babe,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be on alert. That’s why Harper and Jackson and Nolan are nearby, plus the Homicide goons. We’re just putting on a show.” His hand skates up her body, floats over her ribs, and she knows he’s intentionally touching where he knows her tattoo is. “No one but us knows it’s real, no one has to know it’s not work at all.”

She nods against him, and tries to believe him, tries to relax. 

_“2 o’clock, Bradford, bus boy,”_ Harper’s voice comes through the earpiece, and Lucy knows that means she’s spotted someone looking in their direction a couple times. Tim shifts her body just slightly, so he can look, so she can be _seen._ She thinks maybe she’d feel exploited a little if she didn’t feel so safe in his arms, didn’t feel like this could really help bring closure to destroyed families, could save someone else.

She tenses a little, and Tim brushes her hair off her shoulder so his lips can find her neck. She shivers and feels him grin against her skin. 

“Just close your eyes, Lucy,” he whispers, and she doesn’t want to, it feels wrong to relax -- she’s at work, she’s on a mission. But it’s almost impossible to not relax in Tim’s arms, in the gentle way he holds her against him. 

His lips move against her neck, his teeth scrape her sensitive skin, and she finally lets her eyes flutter closed. “Good. You’re _safe_ ,” he whispers, and his lips move to the spot on her neck that he knows ruins her train of thought. “You’re _gorgeous.”_

 _“Bradford, Chen, bus boy incoming. West is going to run interference, we just want to see if he comes back,”_ Harper says, and Lucy hears Tim curse quietly. She’d _just_ relaxed. 

She opens her eyes so she can see who they’re watching, finds him clearing off the table closest to where they’re dancing. 

“Don’t pay him any attention,” Tim murmurs low in her ear. “You only want to be with me.” It’s a tactic, of course, to see if it irks the guy, but it’s also true. 

She doesn’t close her eyes, but she lets Tim tilt her head and press his lips to her neck again, more overt, not as gentle. His five o’clock shadow tickles, teases, as she watches Jackson approach the suspect. 

“Hey man, I know you’re working, but someone spilled a drink over there,” he points, off near where he’d come from, “and it’s pretty slick. Want me to show ya?” 

She breathes a sigh of relief as they walk away, and Tim presses a kiss to her jaw. “Good. Just like that if he comes back,” he says. The music shifts into something faster, the bass heavy, thrumming in her viens, and she nods, twisting her neck and rising up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his. 

It’s the most relaxing thing she can think of, her happiest place, and it works. She sinks into it as he sucks her bottom lip between his teeth. His hips press against her harder, the beat of the music moving her back against him automatically. 

He pulls back, and the smile on his face feels like the most normal thing that’s happened in the last hour. “You taste like vodka. Lopez?” he asks, and she laughs. 

“I was fidgety,” she says. 

“I know.” He moves against her again, and she lets her eyes close at the sensation, at the way he can make her feel like it really is just the two of them, like she’s totally safe and not putting her life in danger. 

_“Bradford, incoming.”_ Tim already sees him though, she can feel it in the set of his body, the immediate way he comes to attention, decades of military and police protocol at play in his stance. He’s wiping down the same table and Lucy can feel his eyes on her even as she glances away. 

“It’s just me, and you, and this _dress,”_ Tim whispers, grounding her again, letting her focus on him, on the way he’s still moving against her. She can feel what it’s doing to him, can hear the tiny hitch in his voice even as he keeps himself in check. It’s devastatingly sexy, like everything else about him. She raises her arms and runs them up, behind her, around to the back of his neck. Her nails drag across his skin, and the way he moves against her changes, intensifies. It’s not for show, the rest of the world could fall away and he’d still be pressed against her. 

The back of his neck is slick with sweat and she lets her fingers dig in as he holds her hips against his body and grinds into her. It’s too much, probably, but it’s the most natural she’s felt this whole time, the easiest it’s been. 

The safe warmth of Tim’s body feels entirely different from the heated gaze she still feels roaming over her body, and she tries to focus on anything else. 

The feel of TIm’s hands, pressing just hard enough to hold her, but not hard enough to bruise. 

His lips at her ear, the way his breath ghosts over her, the quick clip of his teeth against her ear.

His voice, rough against her. “I only have a few minutes left.”

She doesn’t know exactly what he means, but his voice, his breath, is ragged enough that she can barely focus on his words anyway. 

He can tell. “Babe,” he whispers, “None of the victim’s partners stayed past midnight. I’m gonna have to go.” 

She slides a hand down his body to his hand on her hip, lacing their fingers together. She wants to keep him here, because she feels _safe_ and a million other feelings, but she knows there’s an important goal.

“I know,” she whispers. “You’ll be with Lopez?” 

He nods against her and she feels him press a kiss to her hair, probably knotted and sweaty. 

“You’ll be _fine,”_ he says again, for the hundredth time, the same words he’d whispered into her skin again and again last night, every time he’d gotten her close to coming before backing off just shy. It was a tease, the best agony, rehearsal for tonight in a way she hadn’t realized. 

She can still feel cold eyes on her warm skin, and she tries to prepare herself for how it’ll feel when Tim isn’t backing her up, literally. 

“After you help bring this guy down, I’m going to bring you home, and get you in bed, and do whatever it takes to relax you.”

Her mind spins with the possibilities, all the ways she knows he’s mastered just that, already.

 _“Time to go, Romeo,”_ Harper’s voice, sarcastic even under the din of static on the earpiece, fades in, and she wants to pretend she doesn’t hear it. But there’s a bigger goal here.

“Sorry,” he whispers, turning her in his arms so they’re face to face for the first time in what feels like too long. “Look over my shoulder subtly. Find your team.”

She does, her eyes trailing over Harper dancing behind them, Jackson and Nolan sitting at tables within easy reach, Homicide people she recognizes scattered throughout. She glances back at him. _Her team._

“They’re all here to keep you safe, Lucy,” he whispers, his lips already brushing hers. “I’m _here,”_ he brushes his thumb over her earlobe. 

She nods, and she watches him close his eyes for what she knows is the first time since they stepped foot in the club. He presses his lips against hers, bites at her bottom lip to slip his tongue in, just a quick tease. His lips graze the corner of her mouth as he pulls back, and she wants to pull him back in, immediately, forever.

But he just presses his lips against her cheek slowly and runs a hand through her hair. She feels him press against the earpiece in her ear, and she knows it’s on now. She knows the real work is starting. “You’ll be fine,” he says, and she knows the earpiece picks it up. It doesn’t pick up the look he gives her, the one that says more than it should in a dark club, when they’re not remotely alone. The one she knows is a substitute for words they haven’t said yet. 

She nods, and he turns and walks away.

\-----

At Harper’s instruction, she’s been dancing by herself, just moving to the beat in the most natural way she can for what feels like an hour, but is really probably only 15 minutes. She’s sweaty, it’s the bane of her existence cardio. But she can feel eyes on her, so she knows it’s effective. 

“Chen, Jarvis from Homicide is going to come flirt with you a little, just to see if we can elicit a response. Bus boy is still watching you, so just cough if you understand.” 

She does, and a couple minutes later Jarvis appears in front of her. The thing is, if she was just a girl, out at a club alone, she probably _would_ flirt with him. He’s young, and cute, but it’s been so long since she flirted with anyone besides Tim, way before they got together, if she’s being honest, and even with Tim it never really crossed her mind to realize it was flirting.

So he smiles at her, and because their suspect is still within earshot, she smiles back and gives a coy _yeah_ when he asks if she’s alone. 

“Wanna dance?” And no, not really. She’s exhausted, and he’s not Tim, but she goes with it, lets him pull her in like he’s just a guy in a club and she’s just a girl, like she can’t feel the straps of his standard issue shoulder holster when she settles her hands on his shoulders. 

“You doing okay?” He whispers, and she doesn’t know him at all, but it’s sweet, it’s protective in a way she feels comforted by, because it’s exactly what Tim would ask if he walked back in.

Tim, who she knows can hear the conversation through the earpiece. 

“I’m okay,” she answers, and tries to keep her voice steadier than it feels. 

“You’re doing good. We think we can get him with the evidence we’ve got. We just need something to hold him on now while the final details come together. Think you can get him to buy you a drink if he comes around again?”

She nods, and he smiles. It’s cute, but it’s not life changing, it’s not anything worth keeping secrets for. 

“Good. I’m gonna go. Just follow Harper’s lead. You should be home soon.”

“Thanks,” she says, letting her hands fall from his shoulders. It wasn’t the same, but it was a safety net, and he smiles again. 

“Thanks for the dance, _mama,”_ he grins and winks, and she wants to roll her eyes because she doesn’t know if that’s who he is or just a character he’s playing, but she refrains. 

_“Good,”_ Harper says, her voice low in the earpiece. She barely sounds winded, and Lucy wonders how she’s been dancing for actual hours. Crystal’s club days were formative, clearly. “It looks like he’s approaching again. Get him to get you that drink. You’re annoyingly charming, it shouldn’t be difficult.” 

She mutters in the affirmative quickly and lifts her hair off the back of her neck quickly to cool down for a moment. She closes her eyes and feels the prickle of eyes on her skin almost immediately.

She opens her eyes and tries to school her expression. Something friendly, something open, something she’d easily exude in a totally different situation. 

He’s back to wiping down that same damn table, and potential serial killer aside, she’s not sure how he still has a job if this is what he spends his time doing. She smiles a little though, letting him catch it before she glances away. 

She can do this, as long as she ignores every instinct in her body telling her to run from someone she’s actually aware may be a sadist this time.

He switches sides, so he’s closer to her, and she doesn’t back away, even though her body is vibrating with the need to. This is so close to being done. It hasn’t been spelled out to her, but she gets it. Get a drink from him. Use Angela’s little gift, hope it tests positive for some vile drug that almost led to her death and likely contributed to the three victims. 

She catches his eye again and steels herself as he sets the rag down. 

“Where’d your friend go?” He asks, and his voice is low, and she’s not at all surprised at how it doesn’t sound like a serial killer’s voice, because that’s… not a thing. They just sound and look and act like regular people… until they don’t. She knows it too well. Fear and the tinge of acid build at the back of her throat, but she swallows it down. 

“He left,” she shrugs, hoping her voice is casual enough, tempting enough. 

“Why do these guys keep leaving you?” 

Her stomach twists, like it’s her fault they’ve left.

 _“They’re idiots,”_ Harper supplies, and it’s exactly what she was going to go with. _“I mean, so is he, but go with it.”_

“They’re idiots, I guess,” she says, and she tries to pitch her voice higher, so it feels less like hers, like a safety defense when she otherwise feels exposed.

“Clearly,” he says. It’s flat, emotionless, not at all flirty like it could potentially be under a normal circumstance. 

She nods and smiles at him, even though it feels gross to share any real part of herself with him. She fans herself quickly. She really _is_ hot, but she’s hoping it gets the point across. 

“You’ve been dancing awhile. You have a drink?”

She shakes her head, frowning. “That first guy, he told me he’d buy my drinks, so I didn’t bring my wallet and then he just left. I mean, not that I have any place to put it anyway,” she says, gesturing down at her dress. 

“I can tell,” It’s slimy, it’s gross, it’s almost worse than how his eyes feel on her body. “I can get you a drink, if you want. On the house,” he says.

“Yeah?” She tries to sound excited, like he’s doing her a big favor. “That would be _amazing,_ I’m _dying_ over here.” Her word choice feels tacky, and she hates it, but the tiny quirk of his lip tells her all she needs to know. 

It’s him, without a doubt in her mind. Her stomach twists again, because she knows what could happen. She knows the slightly salty taste of GHB, the way it can easily be explained away or masked. She knows the first fuzzy symptoms, the sudden onset of pure intoxication. The sound of a trunk slamming. The blackout. The buzz of a tattoo gun. 

She knows she got lucky. She knows how it can end. How it did, at his hands, for three women. 

“You look familiar,” he says, and she’s pretty sure that’s what he’d consider a charming smile. The best smiler she knows could give him lessons for a year and it still wouldn’t take. “What’s your name?”

“Abigail,” is what comes out, and she thinks of Nolan’s almost daughter-in-law, the spunky fighter who she kind of adores, about her telling Lucy that Tim was all bark, how everything in their relationship felt just slightly different, _more,_ after that conversation, and it gives her the strength to shake the hand he holds out. It’s clammy, and rough, but she wonders if she’d notice any of these unsightly characteristics if she didn’t already _know._

She hates it, but she knows she wouldn’t, at least not _before._ She knows how easy it is to be fooled, especially when you’re just having fun, when you’re vulnerable or drinking, or just wanting someone to pay you attention after a long day. 

“I’m Danny,” he says, and she smiles, she does. And she hates every stretch of it across her face. “Let me go get you that drink. Don’t move. Something sweet, right?”

She nods, even though no, that’s not what she’d choose. But she knows it has a purpose. It masks the salty taste, and even if you _knew,_ even if you thought _maybe,_ it would be hidden.

He walks away and she lets her body sag. Her energy is almost gone. She wants to vomit. But it’s so close to being over, so close to being _solved,_ even though it can’t be _fixed,_ for those three families.

 _“Good, Chen. It’s almost over. This is important. When he gives you the drink, we’re going to create a diversion. When he looks away, slip your bracelet off and into the drink. I’ll be right behind you if it’s positive. I’ll hand you an empty cup, you’ll give me the drugged one, and you need to make that creep believe you downed it in a second. He needs to think you’re vulnerable. And I’m sorry, but I need you to get him to follow you to the bathroom. He needs to think he’s got you, that you want him. We need to be in control. Nolan and Jackson are already waiting back there. Nothing will happen. We’ll intercept him on the way, we’ll have enough with the drink.”_ Harper’s words are quick, and god, Lucy is so, so thankful for her no bullshit, all business attitude. 

_“Just nod if you’re good. He’s headed back your way.”_

She’s not sure she’s _good,_ but she nods. She’s _ready._

“Here you go,” he says, handing her a bright cocktail in a small plastic cup. Thank god she knows they serve all their drinks in the same cup, but she figures Harper had a backup plan either way.

“Thanks!” It’s bright, it’s bubbly, it’s as much Lucy as she’s willing to give him. Behind her, she hears the scrape of chairs and the telltale sign of punches being thrown. 

_“Go, Chen.”_

She makes sure he’s paying attention, and he is. His eyes are on the back of the club, nowhere near her. They chose a good distraction, the macho edge he’s trying to playup could never avoid watching a fist fight. 

She slips the bracelet off and dips it in the drink, watching the bead turn bright, fluorescent pink before she’s even lifted it back out. _Scumbag._

The brush of fingers against her arm tells her Harper is there, like Lucy knew she’d be. She presses the drink behind her and takes the waiting cup and she sees Harper dance off in her periphery. 

She brings the empty cup to her lips just as he turns back to her. She works to calm her breathing against the plastic and smiles at him, making a show to lick her lips. 

“Already done?” He asks, that tiny smile lining his lips again.

“I told you I was thirsty,” she giggles, like it’s gone to her head immediately. She waits for him to say something, but she knows he’s biding his time. She tries to remember how quickly she’d felt even slightly _off_ after her drinks with Caleb, but either she’s blocked it out or the roofie did, and that’s probably a good thing.

“Hey,” she whispers, leaning in, even though she wants to either run in the opposite direction or punch him in the face repeatedly. “Can I thank you for the drink?” She tries to imbue as much flirt into it as she can, but she’s not sure it works until he licks his lips quickly. 

_Vomit._ She’s going to vomit. 

He nods, and she smiles, taking a step closer. “Do you have to stay right here, or can you come with me to the bathroom, so I can show my appreciation _properly?”_

 _Please,_ please work. That slimy, gross grin stretches across his face again, and she knows. She just has to get to the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” she says. She makes sure he’s in her line of sight as they walk off toward the back, and her breathing falters as the hallway narrows and grows darker and his hand skims across her waist.

She wants to move away, but she sees Jackson and Nolan up ahead, and her heart races in anticipation of this all ending. 

The sound of quick footsteps behind them gives her peace. 

The sound of guns clicking out of holsters makes her nervous for a moment, but she knows, even if he’s armed, he’s outnumbered.

The sound of Harper’s voice, loud and strong, almost makes her smile.

Jackson pulls her against him and drags her down the hallway while they take him down.

Nolan puts a hand on her shoulder, but she moves away, smiling apologetically.

Jarvis pats him down and tosses her a quick, easy smile. Appreciation, respect. 

Harper cuffs him and just nods at her, but it’s more than enough.

They move him down the hallway, and he sneers at her as he’s marched by. 

_“Bitch.”_

She’s been called worse. 

But that’s the last straw. 

That’s the end.

Bile rises in her throat and she pushes past Jackson and Nolan to the back door, even though the bathrooms are closer. _She needs air. She needs space._

She barely makes it out the door before she retches, her hair falling in her face and her stomach twisting itself in knots. 

Warm, gentle hands pull her hair out of her face and stroke her back as she gets sick.

 _She needs Tim._ And he’s here, exactly where he said he’d be. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s over. You’re okay. You were perfect. You just gave so many family members answers.” He whispers silly nonsense against her hair as he supports her while she straightens back up and comes back to herself.

She wipes her hand across her mouth and takes a shaky breath. 

“It’s over,” she says. 

He nods. Beside him, Lopez holds out a bottle of water and presses a strong palm against her shoulder. It feels like silent praise.

She nods her thanks and takes a gulp, rinsing out her mouth. 

“Lucy, that was a masterclass. We all knew you could do it, but I’d have blown the whole thing and punched him a second into it, _if_ I even made it through without punching Tim first.”

 _“Hey,”_ he says, affronted. It gives Lucy her first real laugh, and she’s grateful as they join in. Tim’s laugh echoes through her where she’s pressed against his side.

“Tim was the easiest part,” she says, quietly, and she doesn’t miss either the small smile he gives her, or the way Lopez narrows her eyes at them. 

The door opens behind them and Harper, Nolan, and Jackson join them.

She doesn’t want to leave Tim’s side, but when Harper reaches out hesitantly, she nods and lets herself be hugged. “I know, that was probably more than you signed on for. I don’t know how well we prepared you, and I’m sorry. But you shattered that ceiling, girl. Crystal would be honored to go clubbing with you anyday,” she whispers, a rush against Lucy’s ear, and they’re both smiling as they pull back. 

She lets Jackson hug her again, his familiar, big grin pressing into her hair. Nolan presses a kiss to her cheek, and she smiles at them all. 

_Her team._

She’s pressed back against Tim’s side before she can even process it, like it’s automatic, like he’s always, always her touchstone, her safety net. 

She watches Harper and Lopez exchanges glances again, and she knows. She knows what they mean. 

“Guys, it’s over, you can let go of the act now,” Lopez says, and Lucy hears the challenge in her voice. She knows Tim does too, because he runs his palm down her back, gentle. _Soothing._

She pulls back and smiles at him.

_A question._

He nods. “Yeah, okay,” he tells Lopez, and then he smiles down at her. 

_An answer._

And then he’s kissing her, like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done, his smile familiar against her mouth. 

\-----

_He takes her home._

_He gets her in his bed._

He whispers words of praise against her skin, her lips. 

_("Did that goon from Homicide feel you up?")_

_He whispers words they haven’t said yet, loud enough for her to hear._

__

_She relaxes,_ and the rest of the world falls away.

__

__

__

__

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are the only emails I smile at! (Especially for this one. Seriously. This one kicked my butt.)


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